


A Tale Of Old Thisby

by belovedbookdragon



Category: The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: capaill uisce, capall uisce, old thisby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 05:53:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedbookdragon/pseuds/belovedbookdragon
Summary: Kind of a follow up to my Named fic. Just about a boy becoming a man on Thisby. It goes more in-depth into the life in the village after the Nameless Rider/





	A Tale Of Old Thisby

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if this sucks. Feedback would be very welcomed.

The drums sounded at dawn. It was the day of Samhain. The day the people of Thisby would celebrate the harvest, the gods, and the boys who would become men.  
\---  
“Wake up, wake up!” A heavy body landed upon me as I attempted to cling to the last sweet remnants of sleep. “Carbry! Get uuuuuuuuup!”  
Giving up on sleep, I opened my eyes to see my younger brother Cadfarch’s face looming above me. “Och, what do you want? Can’t a man sleep past dawn?”  
My brother snorted, “you’re not a man. At least, not yet. And its Samhain! The festivities are starting! Or do you want to stay in bed and not be given the blessing to hunt for your manhood?”  
Groaning, I pushed my brother off of me, causing him to fall from the cot and hit the floor with a solid thump and a yelp. “I’m up, lackwit.” I used stretching as an excuse to to mull over my thoughts.  
I was to begin my journey to join the ranks of the men in Thisby. The thirty days that followed Samhain will be filled with boys who have seen 18 summers hunting the water horses- the capaill uisce. The ones who were successful in their hunt become the warriors, the wise men, the ones who will marry. The ones who fail to capture a capall uisce either die trying or live at the edge of the village as pariahs. No one wanted to become a failed boy, all want to have a capall uisce in their stable.  
Gods, the capaill uisce were terrifying, and so, so beautiful. They were the true gods of the beach, for they were sea and land, drowning and trampling. I understood why my people worship and fear them.  
It had only been 100 years since the nameless rider rode his capall through the village screaming of Epona’s power and blessings. Epona appeared in the town square that night as a woman with a horse head. The great Mare Goddess announced that all children would be named at birth, that we would no longer kill the capaill, that the true mark of a man would be to ride a capall, to show dominance. 100 years later the boys of Thisby captured capaill uisce to prove they were worthy to become men.  
Cadfarch tore me away from my thoughts, “Carbry! Hurry up! The porridge ma made is going to be cold soon!” I quickly pulled on my leather pants, knee high supple leather boots, and thick wool shirt, grumbling at Cadfarch’s whining. As soon as my boots were on he pulled me out of the small stone hut that was my family’s home to the front where an open fire pit was.  
My mother looked up from the bubbling pot in front of her as Cadfarch and I tumbled out of the doorway. “Boys,” my mother rolled her green eyes, “try not to destroy our home.”  
“Yes ma,” my brother and I answered meekly. Ma was a force of nature, and honestly the most terrifying person I knew. She was a tall woman, with wild curly red hair. She was staunch horse woman, swift with the back hand, and the priestess of Epona.  
During the thirty days after Samhain, my ma would be the voice piece of the goddess Epona. She would anoint the new men, and banish those who did not receive Epona’s blessing.  
My father was considered a blessed man, to be married to the horse priestess. And as the headman of horses, our stables were carved with protections to keep our land horses safe and our capaill captive. Great columns of twisting animal gods and iron pieces climbed the wall to ensnare the capaill and keep them in their stalls. My father was master of 7 capaill.  
Cadfarch and I accepted the bowls of porridge from ma. My ma frowned as she looked at me. “Carbry, today is the last day I will speak to you as your mother. After tonight I will be speaking to you as your priestess. I will not be able to help you, or love you. I will not be able to love you until you return a man.” The unspoken “upon a capaill uisce” hung in the air between us.  
I nodded, “yes ma, I understand.”  
Her green eyes held mine in her gaze, and I trembled. “Good. Now, go find your fa. I will see you tonight”  
\----  
I found my father at the village center, with the other headmen. “Ah Carbry, there you are.” My father was as imposing as my ma. He was a tall man, with a strong face, set jaw line, and scars from the demon horses he has fought to capture. The villagers say I looked like my fa, tall, brooding, and we had the same wavy, ginger hair. I guess I should say it is an honor to be like my fa in some ways. Even the chief deferred to my fa.  
“Hi fa,” I nodded to him, suddenly feeling very small and weak, even though my bow, quiver, and spear are strapped to my back. I knew he expected great things from me.  
“Are you ready for your blessing?” My fa looked me over, a strange look of worry and pride on his face.  
I nodded and kneeled in front of the other men. One man, Cormac, headman of fishing, ran clay mixed with red holly through my hair, painted it down my exposed skin. Fadac, headman of planting, held my head still as my father pierced my ears with iron bits. “Carbry, today you leave boyhood behind. Let the red holly mark you as death to the capaill uisce, let the iron mark you as their masters. May Epona bless you tonight, as you begin your hunt.”  
I blinked the tears away, ears burning from the needle piercing my flesh. “May Mother Epona bless me with her approval and allow me to capture the demon horses of the sea.” The men around me chanted. It was an eerie sound, low and rumbling, like the sea at night. They chanted as they painted my face with red holly, blue clay, and soot from a fire. I knew if I were to see my reflection I would resemble the carved gods in our stable. I was death seeking death.  
And with that, I was lead to the festival on the cliff overlooking the sea. It was deafening, the noise of the festival. Bells, harps, flutes, and drums played the old songs, calling the people to Skarmouth and the goddess to hear her people.  
\---  
The fire roared on the cliff face, crackling and challenging the iron blue sea with its searing orange light. My mother danced in the smoke and fire light, the horse head mask she wore looked like it was glowing in the fire light. Blood and paint and tattoos covered ma’s arms and shine in the light as she swayed and chants.  
“Epona, great mother, bless us tonight! We celebrate the lives of the boys you have given us 18 summers with and we ask you for these boys to return men so we may have many more years!” My ma continued to dance around the fire, the villagers cheered.  
I joined the other boys my age and shared nervous grins with them. We made a striking sight, 8 young men freshly painted, armed to the teeth, and trying not to think of the smarting pain of our new earrings. We must have looked like the Sidhe.  
My best friend Stod clapped me on the back. “You ready for this?” His grin was feral, he was drunk on excitement, I realized. Stod trembled beside me as his grin grew wider.  
“Yeah, I’m ready. I want to fill my stables with capaill uisce. That way I can have a nice house and come home to dinner ready every night,” I smirked and punched his shoulder.  
Stod laughed and rubbed his shoulder, “Oh-ho! Planning your home already? Don’t you need a wife first? I see you eyeing the lovely Rois. You grow balls yet and ask her to court?”  
Before I could respond and protect my dignity that my very red face was betraying, I noticed the boy who stood away from our group. He was pale and slender, wearing white hide, and painted with white clay and chalk. He was shackled. And he was shaking.  
I knew him as Aghy. After tonight he would be known as the nameless man sacrificed at the alter. Epona may be our blessed mother, but she was still the goddess of death. Blood was a small price to pay to make sure the village survived the winter. However, the sacrifices tended to be prisoners of war, nameless faces that made sure the sun rose again on the winter solstice.  
Stod noticed my stare and the smile fell from his face, “They chose Aghy because he was born sick. He won’t make it through a hunt.” His voice trembled,”at- at least this way he can die a man.”  
I nodded and we were silent for a bit. The festival and revelries faded into silence as we mourned the boy who would die a man.  
A low booming note pulled us to the presence. The goddess’s drum was calling us forward.  
It was time to approach the altar.  
\---  
Stod, the other boys, and I gathered quickly in front of my mother. This was it. It was time to start our journey to manhood.  
My mother chanted in the old language, the words vibrated in the air. The horse head seemed to be dripping blood from its mouth as my mother chanted and wailed louder. We joined her chanting, beseeching Epona to bless us, bless our family, and to bless our hunt.  
The chanting grew more intense, louder. The fire grew and roared, a flaming horse appeared and danced in the flames, the drums pounded louder.  
And louder.  
And louder still.  
My mother, the priestess of Epona, took Aghy by the hand and lead the shaking and crying boy to the altar stone. Two men from the village flanked him, forcing him up the steps. My mother chanted and sang and prayed. The mare in the flame reared and plunged, eyes rolling, demanding blood.  
Aghy screamed, begging Epona for another way. My mother, the priestess, raised a flint blade above her head. She chanted and swayed before rapidly plunging the blade into Aghy’s throat. A strangled gurgle and silence. I loosed a breath I had not realized I had been holding, Stod swayed silently next to me.  
In the crowd someone screamed a terrible scream, it was a shrieking wail, the agony of a mother.  
It was done, a horrible price was paid to ensure that the capaill do not kill us all. I wondered if tomorrow if my mother would mourn, if she would cry for the life she took, or if the magic of Epona made her immune.  
My mother handed us the flint blade. “GIVE YOUR BLOOD. DECLARE YOURSELF TO EPONA.”  
One by one my peers and I sliced our palms, screaming our names to the mare in the flames, and smeared our blood across the stone.  
The fire swelled and burst outwards, and the mare of the flames dissolved into ash.  
Then the screaming started. It was not human, it was the capaill uisce.  
My mother looked at us gathered around her. “Run.”  
\---  
We ran. We ran for the sea. We went our separate ways at the beach, seeking glory for ourselves alone.  
\---  
You could hear them, the capaill uisce, just before they surface. It sounded like a whetstone being slid across a sharp blade. Slchick-schlick. The sound started soft at first, hidden by the song of the waves. Then it grew louder and louder until they were thundering onto the sand, all teeth and hooves and seaweed manes and snake neck.  
I listened intently for that noise, my whole body vibrated as I trudged through the sand, clutching my iron spear tightly. I was ready to become a man, to capture a capaill uisce. I had rope braided from holly bark, my iron weapons. I was ready. I found myself in the cove where an iron rod stuck out from the rocks upon the beach. I waded into the water and waited.  
The approaching fall squall would force the capaill upon the land. I had to be ready. I waited for hours. I could hear them breathing and calling out to each other far from shore.  
Then, the squall hit. The rain fell in torrents, soaking me to the bone. Lightning exploded above my head, thunder cracked. In the flash of lightning I saw the silhouette of a great horse plunging through the surf, screaming challenges, teeth bared in fury and bloodlust.  
It was time. I was either going to stain the seafoam and sand with my blood or return a man.  
I ran towards the capall uisce, screaming chants to invoke Epona and her strength. I managed to loop the creature around its neck with the hollyrope after dodging and dancing a dangerous dance of hooves and teeth and wet sand. The capall let out a squeal of fury when the hollyrope tightened around its neck. Plunging in anger and pain I was slammed onto the sand, against the rocks, and back onto the sand by the capall uisce.  
I cried out in pain, but still held the rope, “EPONA GIVE ME STRENGTH TO DO YOUR WILL!” I noticed the iron rod still driven into the stone. I struggled to my feet and managed to tie the rope to the rod before the capall could tear the rope from my hands.  
The capall froze, the rope looped tightly around its neck three times. It eyed me with anger and curiosity. Chanting in the old language, I approached the capall, iron bits in my hand. “You belong to me, not the sea. I have done as Epona asked, I have taken you into my control.”  
I ran the iron bits down its shoulder and it shuddered and shrieked, but did not move. It was then that I knew I had captured a mare. I braided the iron bits into her mane, tied iron bells around her pasterns and knotted her tail and mane into the symbols of Epona.  
I stood eye to eye with my captured capall, both of us stood shivering in the wind and rain. “I will ride you, and I will take you to my stable. It is the will of Epona.” I repeated this over and over again until the storm subsided and the sun began to rise.  
It was then I knew I had captured a cream colored mare, her mane and tail was stained green from algae. She looked fearsome and fae. She was sleek, streamline, and every bit a predator. I decided to call her Uachtar, the old word for cream.  
Using a hollyrope bridle I prepared her to be ridden to the priestess. I was either going to die, or become a man. I prepared to cut her loose, and I prayed that the metal on her pasterns and in her hair would keep her trapped long enough for me to used the rope a a tie down and reins.  
The moment the rope was cut, Uatchar attempted to rear and strike me, but the iron kept her low to the ground and sluggish. I worked fast, knotting the rope round her legs, tied the reins as close to her sharp teeth as I dared. I did not move fast enough and Uachtar swung her head and split my forehead open. I was not deterred. I would bleed to become a man.  
Asking Epona for strength once again, I lept upon Uachtar. It was like sitting on a wave, a wave that was dead set on killing me. Uachtar plunged down the beach, attempting to get back into the ocean. She couldn’t rear due to the tie down, but she sure as hell tried. I used my spear as a crop and pressed the iron into her shoulder to keep her going the direction I wanted her to go.  
The feel of the iron spear against her should convinced her to behave, in the barest sense of the word. I let her run up the high end of the beach.  
\----  
As she thundered up the beach, I heard a loud war cry and the shrieking of a capall uisce. The spirit of the nameless rider and horse ran next to us. The spirit boy grinned at me, from the back of his capall, he was painted in blood and ash and chalk. He was feral, half naked and free. His capall was a blue grey, the color of wet wood smoke. The nameless roder screamed Epona’s blessing and the promise of a sun to rise on the winter solstice.  
We raced up the bluff to the cliffs. Uachtar beat the nameless rider and horse to the top of the bluff. As we thundered across the cliff top I turned long enough to see the nameless rider raise his fist and cry in jubilation.  
\---  
I returned to the priestess as a man, I returned to my mother and my family. I was named a man in the eyes of Epona, Thisby, and Skarmouth.  
My friend Stod was one of the four other boys to return. He was missing an ear, but he still brought a night black stallion to the priestess. More than half of us returned that year, and the village rejoiced. Epona blessed us with the return of the sun on the winter solstice, healthy harvests, and a large herd of land horses.  
My capall became my most dangerous partner, she was never really tame, but she never left. Every Samhain I raced the nameless rider up the bluff to cliff tops, and together we screamed to the night sky of Epona and her deadly blessings.


End file.
